


The Demon's Holy Blade

by Leonawriter



Series: FF7 minifics [7]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen, Inspired by the legend of Masamune and Muramasa, Swords have feelings too you know, Wutai-centric, written for tumblr on my phone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-04 23:53:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14031609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leonawriter/pseuds/Leonawriter
Summary: Wutai calls him a demon, and yes, they are afraid. But demons are beings that are no mere mindless creatures, and they can understand Sephiroth more easily than they ever could the lord that he serves.





	The Demon's Holy Blade

The truth of the fact is, Sephiroth was given his blade wisely.

Even in his darkest moments, his heart still belongs to his sword. And his sword was made by the one that those of Wutai called ‘The Greatest Swordsmith’, and that, of course, was Masamune.

Sephiroth - Shinra’s General with hair the colour of death who wore the colour of Midgar’s mourning - was called a demon, but what those of Wutai knew was that demons were never simply feared, but also accepted and one should aim to appease them, just in case they might deign to leave even one person alive.

Those of Wutai hated Sephiroth, for what he did to them. But they also respected him, and they sought to bargain, and they sought to understand, because some of his ways reminded them of the demons who would be open and honest with their intent but never falter.

Sephiroth, they saw, cut down their warriors in his path like a blade set in the path of ten thousand leaves, a blade that sang yet did not find joy in work for work’s own sake, and who allowed them to bury their dead.

Where he stood, blood would fall like rain, or the cherry blossoms at a flower viewing.

And yet, “My men,” one told of him saying, overheard from their cover, “are in danger because of this plan. Your plan. You had better hope that this is the worst of your mistakes.”

He comes to the temple with a small force, but these are some of the few who will not fight back. They are there to protect, not to kill and die. To die now would do nothing.

He says that their intelligence states there is a weapon capable of great destruction in the temple - and that Shinra wished to possess it in order to ensure peace between the two nations.

None of them believe it. In their heart of hearts, they are not sure that he does either, but he is a demon, and he does Shinra’s bidding.

The head monk shows the General with hair the colour of death the sword, and says that yes, it could wreak great destruction. But only in the right hands. That one who did not know how to wield it could not, and one who understood the blade would have it serve them.

He asks its name, as he takes it from its sacred place.

“Masamune,” they say. “It was Masamune who crafted it, and Masamune who put his soul into it, and Masamune whose name it bears.”

Apart from his darkest moments, only those who sought out the touch of his blade’s steel would feel it, only those who stood against him, only those whose deaths made the world safer - or so he thinks - for his.

And in those darkest moments, are the times when the blade cries, weeping the blood of those it has cut who it did not need to, singing through the air with mourning that its bearer will no longer understand, or listen to.

Dissonance, now.

The bearer wishes from the sword something that it was not created for.

A Masamune blade was not forged for pure destruction.


End file.
